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Featured Poem: The Wild Horses by Mary Gilmore

Where the wild horses trample the fern,Let the deep vales re-echo and wonder, When, like an eddy, they circle and turn!Watch the lithe motionRun free as an ocean,Never has man laid a hand on a head;Never a halterHas bid a step falter,Never a crest bent down to be led!

Mark, in their starting, the pride of their bearing,Swift wheel the leaders, each in his place;Snorting, they stare at us, timid and daring,Ere with whirl they are off at a race.O, the wild sally,As, down through the valley,Turn they again to the mountains they know;Chased and the chaserOutstretched like a racer,Where, as the wind, unconquered they go!

Follow them, hunter, follow and follow -Let the heart pound its answering beat -Over the top, and into the hollow,Where the loud echoes awake and repeat!

On through the timber

Quick thew and limber,

While the wide nostril drinks deep of the air;

Never feet blunderWhere tree and rock sunder,Never a balk, but its conquest is there.

Lift, for your life, where the low logs are lying;Swing from the branches, sway from the brush;Clamber to the rocks - the hoof-beats are flying -Bend to the withers, and leap for the rush!O, the hard pantingFor breath that is wanting;O, the drooped head, and the fallen-in flanks!Winded and shaken,Yet never o'ertaken,Hear the shrill leader rally the ranks!

What though the pommel scarce keep you from reeling;What though the breath be almost a cry;That though all turn in a dream that is stealingSense from intention and light from the eye - Follow them, followBy height and by hollow;Follow them, follow, whatever the course!Soon will the wonderDie out with the thunder,Soon will the mountain forget the wild horse.